


Second Chance, The Colour of Gold

by dFleecy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence- magic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I do it for the girls and the gays thats it, I dont regret it, I had to write this, M/M, OCs purely as plot devices, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Character Death, oh god its 4am i rlly should be sleeping, this has been a vivid daydream in my head for months, this is unhealthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dFleecy/pseuds/dFleecy
Summary: Tension filled the room as the golden hand burst from the depths, grasping at the edge of the pit. A second hand followed, hoisting up the body of a one very alive John Murphy. Bellamy struggled to resist the urge to run over and help him, but Baol’s instructions had been very clear: do not come in contact with him.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake & John Murphy, Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE REWRITTEN THIS  
> IF YOU've read this before you probably haven't anymore  
> Chapter one went from 800 words to 1.3k so

_ “You don’t have time, Bellamy! Just go!” Murphy shouted, his hands taking control over the panel, shoving Bellamy away from controlling it. Bellamy looked at him, distress easily painted onto his face. _

_ “If I go,” Bellamy yelled back, his desperation somehow louder than the crumbling of the building around them, “then you’ll die!” _

_ Their eyes met with a challenge, Murphy’s reluctant, but determined stare winning over Bellamy’s despairing expression before he could even think about arguing. They both knew Bellamy was going to leave because Bellamy wasn’t just living for himself. That’s why it had to be Murphy. _

_ “Go!” Murphy yelled insistently, his expression firm and sharp enough to keep the terror he felt inside from reflecting on his face. Bellamy stood for a moment longer, not willing to argue against him, but scared to leave and finalize the decision. A loud crack resounded from all around the building, and Bellamy forced himself to tear his eyes away from Murphy, blinking back wetness in his eyes as he took off to the exit. _

Bellamy had to shove his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to run his fingers over the nameplate.

John Murphy, it read.

_ The loud, blaring alarm, the smell of gasoline and dust- _

His gut twisted, and he clenched his jaw to hold back a reaction to the wave of guilt that poured over him. The debate in his head came instantly. 

He could always change his mind. The ritual was to bring one person back from the dead. Who said it couldn’t be him? He had saved Bellamy’s life all those months ago, wasn’t it due that Bellamy save his? Give his life back?

Except, no, it couldn’t be him. They needed an advantage, a negotiating point. That wasn’t Murphy. They needed someone with hands on experience of how this world worked, they needed someone who understood the culture and the magic, how they fought their wars. That wasn’t Murphy. It was already decided who it had to be.

But Murphy had been the only one of his friends to die so far. If they brought them back, they could cut their losses and escape the planet; find somewhere else to inhabit. Find a planet not consumed by their own politics or wars. At this point, Bellamy would even be willing to establish their own Ark. He was so  _ tired  _ of living on the ground, fighting everyday for their lives.

A hand rested on his arm, and Bellamy didn’t have to turn his head to know that it was Clarke besides him. He sighed softly, allowing himself to tell Clarke how he was feeling.

“I know,” he said before she had any chance to, “it has to be Raemon.” Bellamy turned back to the box with his name on it, and traced the pattern on the top of the dark brown wood, unsure what he was doing but feeling comforted with the pattern. It felt almost like a prayer to him.

“I wish it could be any other way, Bellamy, I really do.” Bellamy glanced down the hall, looking but not watching as Achelois, the goddess of this world, tended the vat of swirling, golden liquid; focused on pulling Raemon to the land of the living.

“We could leave,” he paused for a moment, not entirely believing the words himself. “Find another planet, or live on the ship- anything.” 

“It’s not sustainable. You know that,” Clarke argued gently. Bellamy rubbed his face between his hands, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“Yeah, I know- sorry, it’s just,” His words caught in his throat. “Ever since Monty… and Harper,” he trailed off.

“What if Jasper was right? What if we  _ are  _ the problem? What if we- we take good, and corrupt it. Until all we know is war and fighting?” Clarke smiled sadly, intertwining her fingers with Bellamy’s, squeezing his palm. Bellamy didn’t have the hope to squeeze back.

“Maybe they were right.” Clarke said dismally. “Maybe he wasn’t. All I know is that we have to do better this time. And that starts with winning this war, liberating the people here. We need Raemon to do that.” Bellamy looked down back at the plaque in front of the box. 

They stared in silence for a while, before Bellamy pushed the box back into its dark compartment and it disappeared once again. Bellamy thought he could see an outline on the table of where it had sat only seconds before, but he wasn’t sure.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll stay here,” Bellamy just shook his head.

“No, I’ll stay. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep anyway.” 

  
  


It was hours later before any news was delivered to them. Achelois, who had been standing in the same spot for almost 10 hours, finally stirred. The golden glow underneath her dark palms faded, and the pit in front of her was sapped of all colour, returning quickly to the inky darkness it had been before they got there.

Bellamy instantly sat up from where he was sitting, zoned out, in a large orange couch. He shook Clarke awake, who had fallen asleep into the soft cushion. She was groggy for a moment, before snapping awake with realization, her eyes shooting over to Achelois.

“Raemon has failed the trials,” her voice carried across the entire room, and their faces instantly fell in defeat. They needed Raemon. Her experience, her knowledge, her power. Without her, they would lose this war by a landslide. None of them possessed magic, none of them knew the language of the people here, none of them knew how to navigate this world. The fact that they had stumbled across this opportunity was far luckier than they deserved in the first place.

“I’ve done all I can for her,” Achelois admitted regrettingly. “But,” she paused, as if unsure of her next words. Bellamy couldn’t help but note how incredibly human she acted, a polar opposite of the legends his mother had raised him on. “There is one more thing I can offer you.” Clarke and Bellamy lifted their head in unison, hope latching onto every word she spoke. She was quick to explain.

“When you submit a soul previously from this world to the trials, the trials do not enhance their power. Magic does not cling to where it has already settled.” She paused for a moment to walk gracefully down the large white steps away from the pit, taking a seat across from Clarke and Bellamy, her eyes soft as she did her best to explain.

“All people of this planet are born, no matter how large or small, with a well of magic. When I revive them, if they pass, they are the same,” She explained carefully. Bellamy wondered impatiently what she was evading to.

“That’s why the trials are particularly dangerous. Magic tries to infuse with the body but the body cannot always take any more. If the soul loses to the trials, they are lost. However,” Achelois stretched out.

“A body not once touched by magic,” She trailed off. Clarke sat straighter in her seat, glancing over to Bellamy with a bright, realized expression. It took a moment, before everything clicked and a rush of emotions ran up his body.

“Is, theoretically, more likely to arise,” She motioned her hand towards where Bellamy had been mourning hours ago.

“We can bring him back?”  Bellamy questioned, his voice coming on a little more rough and hopeful than he had hoped for.

“I can give John Murphy’s soul to the trials. Whether or not he survives is up to him,” she responded, smiling back at him ear to ear. Clarke was quick to cut in with her questions.

“You said the reason most people fail is because there’s no room for magic. If he survives, will he have… magic?”

“If I’m honest, I don’t know. I’ve never subjected a true-born human to the pit. He may have magic, he may not. The magic may be that of a normal warlock, or it may not. That is the risk you will be facing. The John Murphy you knew before might not be the John Murphy that emerges from the pit if he passes the trials. Is this something you’re willing to risk?”

Bellamy’s answer was clear.


	2. It... Worked..?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beuh i just noticed the shit formatting ill fix it in the morning lmaoo ew why she look like that 💀🤭

Tension filled the room as the golden hand burst from the depths, grasping at the edge of the pit. A second hand followed, hoisting up the body of a one very alive John Murphy. Bellamy struggled to resist the urge to run over and help him, but Baol’s instructions had been very clear: do not come in contact with him.  
She had explained that any soul fresh from the trials was dangerous, erratic, and unstable. Not anything too new for Murphy, but Bellamy listened. She explained that it would be a while before he would return to ‘normal’, assuming he went through the same courses as every other person brought back to life.  
The group watched in fascination as the golden dripping figure slammed his chest onto the floor and used the friction of his bare chest against the floor to hoist his legs out of the pit.  
The inky liquid seemed to be pulling him back in, and Murphy struggled to free his body completely from it. Bellamy averted his eyes modestly to his head as Murphy was revealing to be more naked than Bellamy had originally thought he would be, and only assumed the rest of them had done the same.  
Bellamy watched, admittedly more intrigued than scared, as Murphy collapsed on the floor, posture exhausted. The marbled gold dripped from every inch of his body, and pooled around him on the floor.  
Instantly, Baol’s helpers swarmed over to Murphy and surrounded him, blocking Bellamy’s view of him as he was carried out of the room. Bellamy made a move to follow him, but Clarke put a hand on his shoulder reminding him of the warnings.  
“I have rooms for you to stay in while you wait for the process to be completed,” Baol said softly, aware of the tense mood in the room.  
“If everything goes as expected, he should be ready to leave with you by dawn,” Bellamy nodded his head and looked to Clarke for reassurance. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he furrowed his brows. Her eyes were soft and confident.  
“He’ll be fine, Bellamy, let’s get some rest and see him in the morning, okay?” Bellamy nodded, casting once glance over his shoulder as he let Clarke lead him out of the room and down the hall where the helpers led them tot heir rooms.

Murphy felt pins and needles all over his body as he swam. He wasn’t sure where he was swimming to or why he didn’t feel the need to hold his breath. All he knew is that there was a twisting feeling in his gut that told him he had to keep going if he wanted to live. Determination ran through every vein in his body, and his mind was sharp, focused. If there was one thing he had always been, it was a survivor; a cockroach. The world thought they could kill him, but John Murphy thought differently.  
He felt the coolness of his hand breaking the surface, and grasped at a cold smooth ledge. He shoved his other hand out of the abyss and hoisted himself up towards the surface. He felt a familiar presence, smelled a familiar smell, and the pit’s pull on him grew more and more intense the more he started to experience the world around him.  
He used the toughness of the liquid around him to grip to the floor and pulled his left leg out first, his knee gripping the ledge and pulling more and more of his body out. His right leg was easier, and soon his entire body was free of the liquid.  
He collapsed to the cool floor, and opened his eyes. He saw nothing but swirling gold, and let himself lie on the floor as he breathed for the first time. Cool and sweet smelling air greeted, him, and his face curled into a smile. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had done, but he felt proud. He felt alive.  
Vaguely, he noticed people swarming him, touched every part of his body as several hands clung to his limbs and lifted him onto another hard surface. Faintly, he heard familiar voices, and his heart twisted at the sweet sound, but his brain didn’t register the voices to anything.  
This frustrated him, and he closed his eyes again, not sure what he angry at. It didn’t matter for much longer because soon there was a warm feeling washing over his body and he slipped into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, lemme know! I have some ideas for a proper story of this, but I'm not sure how well it will do, so feel free to give me your two cents


End file.
